Moment of Truth
by dramatic owl
Summary: Helga's life is about to reach a turning point.


**Disclaimer:** None of it belongs to me. Just this story.

**ladiesbingo prompt:** amnesia

**dark_bingo prompt:** vulnerability

**Summary:** Helga's life is about to reach a turning point.

**Warning:** Alcoholism and depression.

* * *

**MOMENT OF TRUTH**

Helga spotted Phoebe in the mirror along the bar, heading toward her. She didn't wave or otherwise react, just signaled Chris for another drink. He nodded and went off to mix up another mojito. Phoebe climbed onto the stool next to her without a word and folded her arms on the bar. They studied one another's reflection.

Her cell phone had rung on and off a few times tonight. Helga had assumed it was Rob calling, but she never looked and never picked up. She wasn't actually in the mood to talk to anyone. It occurred to her now that Phoebe was the one who'd been calling.

She'd obviously become too predictable that Phoebe figured out where to find her. It's not like they ever came here together, and she didn't think she'd ever mentioned the place in conversation. As far as Phoebe knew she was home tossing Rob's stuff out the window, to get him out faster.

It was easy to not talk here and simply listen to the mingling sounds of male voices, clinking glass, the cracking sounds of a pool cue striking a ball and the ball thudding into the pocket. They were the only women in the place right now.

"What can I get you?" Chris asked Phoebe as he set a fresh mojito down in front of Helga and removed her empty glass.

"The same as my friend."

"Coming right up."

As he walked away Helga picked up her drink and before taking a sip she said, "I didn't think you ever drank anything harder than beer or wine."

"If I'm going to get drunk with you I might as well drink a nice fancy drink with limes and mint leaves in it."

Helga laughed. "I figured you were here to talk me out of getting drunk and drag me home."

Phoebe just shrugged.

"You've got your work cut out for you if you're gonna keep up with me, Pheebs," she said with a snort. "I've got a good head start."

"How many are you up to?"

"This is my fifth." At least she thought it was her fifth. She might have lost count and was missing one here or there.

"I am behind," she said as Chris served her mojito. She picked up her drink, tapped Helga's glass and Helga watched wide-eyed as she took several long swallows. "Mm, heavy on the lime, just the way I like it."

"Yeah, Chris makes a good mojito," she said, still staring as Phoebe slugged at it. "I'm partial to less mint, more lime too."

Helga was five-foot-nine and a seasoned drinker (though she really was trying to taper off and would've been doing better if only it hadn't been for yet another setback). Phoebe was five-foot-three—at most—and slender. Most importantly she almost never drank and if she did it was strictly kept to a maximum of two glasses of wine or two light beers. She was a lightweight in every sense of the word.

"Are we really going to make this a contest?" she asked, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

"No, of course not," Phoebe answered, setting her glass down again. "I just don't want you to be alone here."

"Yeah, drinking alone is pretty pathetic. But like you said, I'm drinking a fancy drink. I'm totally less pathetic than if I was drinking straight whiskey."

"I didn't mean that, Helga. I just thought it would help if I kept you company tonight."

Helga sighed. "I knew what you meant, Pheebs. I'm just feeling lousy, that's all. Forget I said it."

"Forgetting."

They sipped their drinks in silence. It was around eleven o'clock on a Monday and the place was almost empty. Whoever named the Best Shot Lounge must have thought the 'Lounge' would make it sound somewhat stylish, like a club. In truth it was nothing but a dingy bar. Its biggest draws were Ladies-Drink-Free-All-Night Tuesdays, the weekday happy hour half-priced tequila shots from six to eight and the pool table in the back. Otherwise it was just a dive filled mostly with depressed people who came to do hard drinking and drown their sorrows. The perfect place given her state of mind.

Tonight, besides Helga and Phoebe, there were a couple of middle-aged men in jeans and flannel shirts seated at the other end of the bar guzzling beers and arguing, a very soused guy with mussed black hair sitting alone halfway between them trying unsuccessfully to talk Chris out of cutting him off for the night, in the back a group of four or five college-aged guys were playing pool. The place was dark enough to make the grime and spilled drinks and God knew what else on the floors and walls invisible to the naked eye, but the mirror was wiped to a spotless shine, showing her exactly how she appeared. Helga avoided looking directly at herself.

"I tried to call your cell a few times but you didn't pick up," Phoebe said finally, after a couple of false starts.

"Yeah, I turned it off for a while," Helga fibbed. "I thought Rob might try to call. He's packing his things as we speak."

"I know," she answered quietly.

Helga smiled slightly. Of course Phoebe knew. That's why she had come out to find her.

"I don't want to be anywhere near my place until he's long gone."

Knowing it was for the best didn't make her feel less crummy about it. It wasn't only their splitting up that hurt; it was that they'd waited so long. They didn't even love each other, not really – something Helga realized a long while back. Inertia made her stay with him and the knowledge of that pained her too. He was the one who finally made the move.

All they did was drink together most of the time, rarely even having sex anyway. She was pretty sure Rob was an alcoholic and positive that he'd been dragging her down with him.

_Or maybe it's the other way around._

Immediately her mind skittered away from that thought.

What the hell had she been thinking anyway, getting involved with a guy named Rob of all things and moving in with him? Rob was just a variation of Bob, her father's name. She shuddered as the near miss hit home.

"You can come and stay over at my place if you'd like, Helga. We can go to the movies or something tomorrow, do something fun."

"I'll be hung over tomorrow."

Phoebe ignored that remark. "Come on. We'll have a slumber party."

Helga grinned, staring at the clump of mint leaves toward the bottom of her nearly empty glass. She stirred them with the swizzle straw, watching them separate then bunch together again. Then she finished off the remaining liquid.

"I'm sure Gerald will be thrilled to see me."

Her relationship with Gerald was uneasy, for lack of a better description. They didn't hate each other or anything; they had just never been friends even though they hung out in the same gang when they were kids. She had no idea exactly what he thought of her. But Helga sensed that he only suffered her presence because she was his wife's best friend. They were polite but kept at arm's length of one another.

"That wouldn't make a difference. But as it happens Gerald is out of town."

There was something in Phoebe's voice that seized Helga's attention, even in her intoxicated state. She looked up and studied her friend closely.

"Is everything okay?"

Phoebe nodded but Helga observed the worry in her friend's features.

"Anything you tell me won't ever be repeated."

"I know that," Phoebe said with a small smile. "But everything's fine with us. Even if it wasn't, I'm supposed to be cheering you up tonight."

"Good luck with that."

Her face fell completely. "Helga, let's get out of here. This place isn't good for anybody's mood."

What Helga really wanted to do was drink until she couldn't see straight or remember the wreck that her life was becoming. Maybe she wanted to make herself as miserable as possible too. But the desperate plea in Phoebe's voice and the alarm in her face made something click inside of her and Helga was suddenly terrified.

"You're right, Phoebe." Phoebe was only trying to help and support her, just like she had always done, and in turn she was being miserable and ungrateful. "I'm sorry."

Helga relented and took her up on her invitation to stay over, warning her that she would be terrible company, tonight and tomorrow.

"It's okay." Phoebe touched her arm reassuringly. "I don't mind."

With bitterness and remorse Helga scowled into her empty glass. For her whole life she swore she would never end up like her mother; yet here she was in the throes of the exact same…habit.

"My offer still stands. You don't have to go alone."

She almost didn't hear Phoebe, so quietly had she spoken. After a moment what she'd said registered and, knowing exactly what she meant, Helga bit back a retort—she didn't need anyone to lead her anywhere by the hand. But that wasn't true and she knew it.

Phoebe couldn't go in, but she was willing to walk right up to the door with her.

"Thanks, Pheebs."


End file.
